


Audere est facere

by tigerist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Crossover, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerist/pseuds/tigerist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco knew Dean would understand him. He just didn’t know what would came out of it. (Draco’s POV on meeting the Winchesters and coming to terms with few issues)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Audere est facere

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [](http://icelily01.livejournal.com/profile)[**icelily01**](http://icelily01.livejournal.com/). The title is Latin for “to dare is to do”.

  
"It's annoying, isn't it?" I asked, looking at him thoughtfully. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest thing to do then – trying to start conversation with a hunter who just saw me killing at least ten beings with one spell – but there was something about him that I recognized immediately and I couldn’t help saying those words, knowing he would understand. And if he did try to kill me afterwards…well, he wouldn’t be the first one.

He eyed me warily and I could see the want to attack me fighting with his curiosity. It was clear that even though he had been taught to kill the likes of me, he didn't want to follow through this time. He wanted his questions answered and he thought I could provide the replies. He wanted…it didn’t really matter what else he wanted. He was simply tired - so very, very tired of killing. Perhaps even more that he was tired of living.

"I don’t follow," he drawled, all fake cocky grin and half-turned on charm. Still trying to play his role, then.

"That ever since you crossed that particular line, death is the first solution that comes to your mind in times like this. Even when you know it's not true."

He was even more wary now. For a second there I thought he wouldn't ask after all, but then he tilted his head and said, "What do you mean?" as if he really was interested, as if he wanted to get to know _me_ through my answer. I could see it wasn’t really his gesture, though; he must have picked it up from someone else.

"Death doesn't make it stop," I said calmly, watching him for his reaction. For a moment he just stared at me, his gaze burning, and then he turned on his heel, saying nothing as he left swiftly. Ten seconds later it was as if he was never there.

Looking at the vampires lying dead on the ground – all children, freshly turned, not aware of what happened to them, not able to control themselves – I could see why it hit him so hard to have to kill them, and I knew why he was grateful I did it for him, even if I didn’t have such scruples myself. I knew all too well that some things couldn’t be undone and not everyone could be saved.

Taking care of the bodies, I couldn’t help smiling.

He didn't try to kill me.

*~*~*

I met him again two years later, sitting at a bar in one of the high-end clubs in Chicago. He looked out of place and perfectly at home at the same time and, with all that I had managed to learn about him and his brother during those two years, I couldn’t help wondering which one he wanted to be true more. "If you came to take care of the succubus treating this city as its personal buffet, then you can relax and enjoy your evening," I said, casting a quick spell first to make sure my voice would get to him through the music, and took the seat on his right. "I've already dealt with it."

"I'm pretty sure a city this size can keep me busy," he retorted, not looking at me. I wondered why he avoided eye contact; we both knew he wasn't afraid of me.

"There's a ghost three blocks down. I couldn't make him disappear," I added. "Think you can help me with that?"

"Think my brother can," he said, shrugging. I smiled then, knowing what it meant for him to mention Sam.

“I’d be honored to meet him as well and be able to thank both of you properly.”

He looked at me then, surprised, and tensed. “What do you want to thank us for?” he asked, his tone verging on that of a threat.

“Why, I thought it should be obvious,” I said, still smiling - my mother’s lectures on good manners didn’t go down the drain after all. “For averting the Apocalypse. For doing your best to avoid it being started again. We owe both of you our lives, don’t we?”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “We were just trying to do our job,” he muttered, taking a sip of his beer. “Besides, from what I’ve heard, I should thank you for saving our butts too,” he added, a challenge in his tone.

I was quite impresses he actually knew about that. But then… “I didn’t do anything,” I replied calmly. If he expected me to start babbling out explanations, he would be disappointed. It had been long since I came to terms with my life and my actions during the Second War.

“Exactly,” he nodded solemnly. “You didn’t do anything when there were so many things you could have done, and for your family too. That changes history too, you know,” he added, smiling bitterly. “I should know.”

I thought about Harry and what he had told me when he was asking me to join his team of Aurors. “So I’ve heard,” I said, shrugging. “It doesn’t change anything, though.”

“It never does,” he said, his shoulders suddenly slumped. “It just never fucking does.”

*~*~*

"Do you believe in Hell?" he slurred some time later that night. I laughed and he looked at me, surprised.

"Faith is no longer required when you’ve seen it with your own eyes," I said.

He didn't say anything then but, when I said later that the next round was on me, he didn't say anything then either.

*~*~*

Sam was exactly what I expected him to be. Just as broken and well-mannered, very possessive of his brother even if didn’t want to admit it, and with that air about him that reminded me of Harry and Hermione both.

“I have no ill intentions towards your brother,” I said instead of extending my hand when we met in some coffee shop in the city center. Sam looked at me as if I was crazy.

“As if I didn’t know you could have killed him already if you wanted,” he snorted. “That is, of course, presuming I didn’t kill you earlier,” he added matter-of-factly. “We knew about you first.” There was a tone in his voice indicating it wasn’t his choice that I was still alive; I had already suspected it was the case but I still had to find out what made Dean fight him about me.

“Do you often leave alleged Dark Wizards alive?” I asked, trying to make my tone as light as possible.

Sam shot me an appraising look. “Only the good looking ones,” he said, his tone equally light. “Of course, some misconceptions about the whole concept of family and ones obligations towards it might play a part too.”

I tilted my head, confused. “You let me live because I was Daddy’s boy?” I asked, raising my eyebrows, not able to stop the sarcasm dripping from my words.

Sam rolled his eyes. “No. Dean wanted to let you live because you were Daddy’s good little soldier. I let you live because I think you could actually be useful. Besides, Harry put in a good word for you.”

I smiled ruefully. Damn Gryffindor, still trying to look out for me even though I told him so many times to stop worrying about me. Contrary to his and the Weasleys’ opinion, I _could_ take care of myself.

“I wonder just how much he told you about me,” I said, holding Sam’s gaze with my own.

“He told us enough,” Sam replied curtly, not averting his eyes. “Now, can you start telling me about that ghost of yours?”

“So eager to have me out of here, Samuel?” I asked, smirking.

“Promised Dean to catch a lunch with him,” he said, shrugging. “You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

I barely managed to hide my surprise when I realized he really meant it.

*~*~*

It took Sam two months to work up his courage to ask about it. “You never use _Avada Kedavra_ ,” he said one Friday evening while we were grocery shopping in the store nearest to our motel.

“You want me to walk around casting one of the Unforgivables?” I asked pleasantly, raising my eyebrows and putting Dean’s favorite chips in the cart.

He huffed, irritated. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I refuse to use the spell he treated so lightly – and one he made me use against my will,” I said matter-of-factly. “Any more questions about my choice of spells?”

“Yeah, Dean wants to know why he’s still on laundry duty when you can have it done with one move of your wand,” Sam snorted, pushing the cart into the vegetable section. It took me a moment to realize that that the question wasn’t a test – he simply wanted to understand me better.

It wasn’t something I was used to.

*~*~*

One could say that for someone priding themselves on their observation skills, I was pretty clueless at times. It wasn’t until a year later, when I met Harry in London – by which I mean that he carefully arranged for me to run into him, of course, knowing I wouldn’t respond to the open invitation to visit him in his office – that I realized what had happened.

“You seem happier,” Harry observed over tea, rising his cup as if in toast. “I’m glad. I hoped they would be…the right companions for you.”

I tilted my head - noting suddenly that it didn’t used to be my gesture, and yet by now it felt so natural – surprised by his words. “What do you mean by that?” I asked sharply, flexing my hands to stop them from curling into fists – another gesture that I seemed to have taken on. Sam was right - Dean really was rubbing off on me.

Harry fidgeted and looked at me from above his glasses with guilt and uneasiness written all over his face. “Hermione suggested it might be a good idea – well, actually she insisted it was the only way to go about it if we wanted to _help_ you and not force you into doing the right things for the wrong reasons. She did some research – don’t even ask me _how_ she did that, I really prefer not to know about some things – and came up with their names. Then it was all about leaving them some clues so that they would find out about us, about Voldemort, about the Wars and…” he shrugged, trying for careless, “wait for you to run into each other. I always knew you would, you know,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. “With what you set out to do it was pretty much a given. But you really didn’t _have_ to do it,” he added, looking me straight in the eyes. “You never had to leave, Draco. And you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I really hope you know that.”

I sighed. It was an old argument – and one that got old very fast. “I know, Harry.”

Harry’s gaze turned insistent. “But you don’t _believe_ it, do you?”

I sat back in my chair, smiling my ‘Cheshire cat smile’, as Sam called it. This time I had different answer for him. “I do now. I really do.” And I did, even if sometimes it still felt odd to not care about the opinions of other people, to be free from the voice in my head reminding me constantly of others’ expectations of me.

“It still doesn’t change anything, does it?” Harry asked, a rueful smile on his lips.

I shook my head. “No, it doesn’t. I don’t think it ever will, but I don’t mind it anymore.”

Harry sighed, reaching for a biscuit. “Hermione knew you would say that,” he muttered. “She said they will help you understand but you won’t be able to stop anyway. I just hope you know that if you ever need help…”

“You’re here for me. I know,” I cut in, wanting to spare both of us unnecessary words. I knew it; I really knew, and for the first time ever I didn’t suspect any hidden agenda on his part. I also knew he still wanted me to stay, to go back with him to his office, to move back to my manor. But it wasn’t my life anymore.

Harry nodded, looking at his watch. “I have to go now; the Minister wanted to see me today. Make sure you stop by the next time you’re nearby – my secretary knows to always let you through.”

“I will,” I said automatically and looked up, surprised when I realized that I really meant it. “I will,” I repeated solemnly.

Harry smiled brightly. “That’s all I ask of you.”

Maybe he knew I didn’t belong there anymore too.

  
*~*~*

When I reached our inn later – Dean insisted on staying in the Wizard part of London, claiming he deserved some fun, and Sam’s eyes gleamed at the mere thought of all the bookstores there, which made me think about setting him up a meeting with Hermione the next time we were in England – the room I rented for us was empty, all of our things still in our bags in the corner by the door, Sam’s laptop discarded on the desk at the window, and a note with Dean’s writing laying on top of it. “Geeky boy wanted to go to the bookstore already. Come and save me or else,” it said, so I turned around and went outside, heading towards the nearest bookstore.

Walking into the store and seeing Sam talking excitedly to the seller, with Dean standing behind him, utterly bored, I felt calm again. Harry was right - as unbelievable as it sounded, I _was_ happy; at least as happy as I could be.

Apparently I needed someone as broken as me to become whole again.


End file.
